73. Addy
Chapter seventy-three
Addy
P ain splinters through me, sharp and insistent. I'm swimming up from the depths of darkness, fighting to break the surface. My body feels like it's been pieced together wrong—every limb heavy, every inch throbbing. There are shadows hovering around me, their outlines blurred and shifting.
"Easy, Addy," a voice murmurs somewhere above me. It’s familiar but distant, like an echo in a long-forgotten dream.
I try to respond, to move, but my limbs betray me, leaden and uncooperative. Snatches of conversation filter through the fog in my mind. "...should be waking up soon..." "...can't believe they found her like that..." They're talking about me, I realize, but the effort to stay awake is too much. The blackness pulls me under once more, and I surrender to it without a fight.
Time passes—I'm not sure how much—before light nudges at my eyelids again. This time, when I open them, the sun is low in the sky, painting the room in hues of gold and orange. My vision clears slowly, and I see the saline bag hanging by the bed, its contents trickling down into the IV inserted in my hand.
A soft exhale escapes my lips, and I groan quietly from the soreness that infuses my entire being. At the sound, Chess, who’s been slumped beside my hand, jerks awake. His hazel eyes meet mine, wide and clouded with sleep. For a moment, he looks disoriented, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles, then realization dawns on him.
"Addy?" His voice cracks with worry and sleep. "You're awake."
I want to smile at his ruffled appearance, so at odds with his usual mischievous charm, but the action is too much. Instead, I just hum, feeling the heaviness of my own breath.
"God, you scared us," Chess says, rubbing a hand over his face. The tech genius and hacker, the boy who can unravel secrets with a flick of his fingers—mine included, looks utterly human in this moment, his affable mask replaced by raw concern.
"Water," I rasp, the word barely a whisper.
Chess is instantly alert, searching for a cup before helping me take small sips, his touch careful as if I'm something precious and fragile.
"Better?" he asks, his gaze scanning my face for signs of discomfort.
"Better." And it is, marginally. With the water soothing my parched throat, I feel a little more anchored to reality. But the ache remains—a constant reminder of what I’ve endured.
"Rest, okay? Everyone's been out of their minds worrying about you," Chess continues softly, his hand retreating to give me space, yet remaining close enough to offer silent support.
I want to tell him everything that's racing through my mind, to unload the fear and the anger, but exhaustion has a firm grip on me. So I just nod again, letting his presence be the anchor I didn't know I needed as the world around me drifts back into a healing slumber.
??????
The rustle of movement jars me, and two more figures loom into my blurry vision. Saint's dark curls are a shadowed halo against the dimming light filtering through the window, his posture rigid with tension that seems to emanate from him like waves. Dre, all sharp angles and pale hair, stands beside him, ice blue eyes wide with something akin to hope.
"Thank fuck," Gen breathes out, relief heavy in her voice. "I thought they were going to try reaching into your dreams to bring you back next."
Her joke echoes strangely in the sterile air, but no one laughs. It isn't funny; it's too close to desperation, to the fear that clung to my subconscious even in the depths of fitful sleep.
Saint steps forward, his hand extended, fingers slightly curled as if he wants to touch but doesn’t dare. Dre mirrors him, hesitance written in the tight lines around his mouth.
"Addy," Saint says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. I can almost feel the weight of his gaze, seeking connection, a sign that I'm truly here and not lost in some unreachable darkness.
"Hey," Dre adds softly. "You had us all worried sick."
But their worry, their presence—it’s too much. The memories surge, raw and terrifying, and instinctively, I recoil, a shiver running down my spine. My arm twitches away from their outstretched hands, pulling myself into a tighter ball on the hospital bed. The IV line tugs at my skin, a sharp reminder of the fragility of my current state.
They freeze, their expressions crumbling. Pain flickers across Saint's face, registering as a tightening of his jaw, the slightest flinch in his otherwise stoic demeanor. Dre's disappointment is clearer, a crack in his armor that lets through the hurt.
"Please, Princess," Saint pleads, his voice low. "We just want to make sure you're okay."
"We've been losing our minds, Snowflake?" Dre chimes in, his plea wrapping around Saint's like two parts of a desperate harmony.
I look away, fixing my gaze on a nondescript spot on the wall. It's easier than looking into their faces, reading the turmoil there, the reflection of my own twisted emotions.
"Thanks for coming for me," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper; it's an olive branch, a token acknowledgment of what they've done. Yet it gives them nothing else, no reassurance, no forgiveness. Not yet. It's all I have to offer while the shadows of betrayal still linger, a dark shroud between us.
"Addy..." Chess starts, but his voice trails off, filled with questions and words left unsaid.
"Let her be," Gen murmurs from somewhere behind them, and I silently thank her for understanding, for standing in the gap when everything is too raw, too near the surface.
They retreat reluctantly, but they don’t leave.
Gen's hand is a whisper of warmth against my own, the gesture tentative, as if she's afraid I might shatter under her touch. Her voice is soft, but it carries the weight of oceans in its depths.
I glance back at where the boys are still hovering. She follows my gaze and shakes her head before returning her attention to me.
"They're not going anywhere, Addy," she says, and I can hear the steel beneath her concern. "What they saw... whatever those monsters did to you." She shakes her head, and even without looking, I can picture the fierce glint in her eyes. "It's etched in their minds. They can't unsee it."
I flinch involuntarily, the memory surging like a riptide, dragging me back to the moment they found me. The door splintering open, their faces—a maelstrom of rage and fear.
"Hey, hey," Gen soothes, sensing my distress. "You don't have to go there, not now. But, God, Addy, when you didn't wake up..." Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat, chasing away the vulnerability with a cough. "We thought we'd lost you for good."
"Gen," I murmur, "I'm here. I'm still here because of you guys."
"Damn right," she affirms, but her bravado doesn't quite reach her eyes.
The silence stretches between us, filled with things unsaid and emotions too tangled to unravel. Then the door opens again, and Mason steps in, his presence filling the room like a shift in the atmosphere.
"Alright, time to clear out," he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Saint, Dre, and Chess hesitate. They don't want to go, it's written in every line of their faces, every coiled muscle. But, one stern look from Mason and they deflate, their movements synchronized in reluctant compliance. They cast lingering glances my way, each one an unspoken promise, a silent vow. As they file out, their shadows stretch across the floor, fingers of darkness reaching for me.
Mason watches them leave before turning his gaze to me, his expression unreadable. He pulls up a chair next to my bed, his posture relaxed but eyes sharp, like he's preparing for a battle only he can see.
"Addy, we need to talk."
His words settle over me, a prelude to the storm I know is coming. I nod, bracing myself for whatever he's about to say. Whatever it is, I'll face it head-on. It's what I do—it's who I am. And somehow, I'll find a way through this too.
The door clicks shut as Gen slips out. Mason's eyes never waver from mine, the weight of his stare as heavy as the secrets we both carry.
"Addy," he starts, voice steady but lined with an undercurrent of urgency. "There's no way in hell you're going back to the Winthrops."
A breath I didn't realize I was holding escapes in a quiet rush, relief and fear mingling in a war within me. "But... they have rights. They won't just let me go, will they?"
He shakes his head, the lines of his face set in grim determination. "Legally, you're still underage. They could demand you return home. And without solid evidence..." His voice trails off, the unspoken truth hanging heavily between us.
"Charges might not stick," I finish for him, my stomach knotting at the thought. The legal system can be bought and Winthrops pay handsomely.
"Exactly." Mason leans forward, elbows on his knees. "I don't want you to worry about that now. We'll keep fighting. I won't stop until you're free, Addy. You have my word."
"Thank you," I murmur, the sincerity of his promise piercing through the numbness.
He hesitates then, as if what he's about to say weighs heavier than all the rest. "There's something else." He clears his throat, meets my gaze square on. "Rhett convinced William to sign a paper—"
"William?" I interrupt, incredulous. "How did Saint manage that?"
"Let's just say Rhett has his ways." A rare, fleeting smile touches Mason's lips. "He's signed a document stating you can marry. It's our best shot, Addy. If you marry Rhett, you're out of the Winthrops' reach for good."
The room tilts, the suggestion slamming into me like a physical blow. Marry Saint? Images flash through my mind: Saint's dark curls, his guarded eyes that only softened when he looked at me sometimes. Could I bind myself to him, step into a future tethered to another person, one I no longer trusted, after fighting so hard for my own autonomy?
"Is there no other way?" My voice is a whisper, barely audible over the roar of conflicting emotions.
"None that puts distance between you and the Winthrops as decisively as this." Mason's voice is gentle, but it holds an edge of steel, a resolve born of battles fought and scars earned.
"Okay."
I clutch at the soft blanket, my knuckles white, as Mason's words echo in my head. Marry Saint. The notion stirs a tempest within me, anger and betrayal swirling with a cold sense of inevitability. I look away from Mason, focusing on the sterile white wall opposite me, trying to find some anchor in the storm.
"You don't seem too happy about that. What changed?"
"I'm not exactly jumping for joy at the idea," I mutter, the bitterness seeping through. My voice is a hollow sound in the too-quiet room. "I'm angry, Mason. So damn angry with all of them."
Mason nods, his expression solemn. "I know, Addy. I'm sure you have every right to be."
"Trust is shattered glass." My gaze drifts to the IV line snaking into my arm, delivering who knows what into my weary veins. "Once it's broken, you can never put it back together. Not without seeing the cracks."
"Sometimes, though, those cracks can make something stronger, if they're healed right." His voice holds a quiet conviction that I wish I could share.
"Or they can cut deeper," I counter, feeling the sharp edge of my own fractured trust. "They lied to me, kept things from me. How can I marry Saint when I don't even know if I can ever look at him the same way again?"
"Addy, you're not marrying trust. You're marrying freedom." Mason's tone is firm now. "This is about you, not them. It's your escape from the Winthrops. This isn't another cage. You owe my nephew nothing. No matter how you feel about him, marrying him is your ticket out. The monthly allowance, the money for college, it's all yours regardless."
I let out a slow breath, letting his words sink in. Freedom. The word resonates within me like a bell tolling the end of an era. It's what I've fought for, bled for—what I thought I'd found before the world turned dark around me. If marrying Saint means ripping the shackles off my wrists, then maybe it's a price I'm willing to pay.
"Fine." The word is a surrender and a battle cry all at once. "I'll marry him."
"Are you sure?" Mason's eyes search mine, looking for any sign of doubt.
"Between marrying Saint and letting the Winthrops claim victory over me?" I push myself up slightly, defiance lighting my green eyes. "It's no contest. They won't win. Not this time."
"Good." Mason stands, a shadow of relief crossing his features. "I'll make the arrangements. It'll happen fast, before they realize what's going on."
"Fast is good." I settle back against the pillow, a strange calm settling over me. "I just want this to be over."
"Understood." Mason heads toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "You're strong, Addy. Stronger than any of them. Remember that."
As the door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I can't help but wonder if strength will be enough to carry me through the vows I'm about to take. But one thing is clear: I choose freedom, whatever form it takes, and I'll walk down that aisle with my head held high, ready to step into a future where the Winthrops can't touch me ever again.